


there's no one I know like I know my- someone else?

by anotherbuskitten



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 13:02:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11714943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherbuskitten/pseuds/anotherbuskitten
Summary: It isn't Dumbledore Harry meets in Kings Cross Station to Heaven.





	there's no one I know like I know my- someone else?

_He lay face down, listening to the silence. He was perfectly alone. Nobody was watching. Nobody else was there. He was not perfectly sure he was there himself._

_A long time later, or maybe no time at all, it came to him that he must exist, must be more than disembodied thought, because he was lying, definitely lying, on some surface. Therefore, he had a sense of a touch, and the thing against which he lay existed too._

_Almost as soon as he had reached this conclusion, Harry became conscious that he was naked. Convinced as he was of his total solitude, this did not concern him, but it did intrigue him slightly. He wondered whether, as he could feel, he would be able to see. In opening them, he discovered that he had eyes._

_He lay in a bright mist, though it was not like mist he had ever experienced before. His surroundings were not hidden by cloudy vapour; rather the cloudy vapour had not yet formed into surroundings. The floor on which he lay seemed to be white, neither warm nor cold, but simply there, a flat, blank something on which to be._

_He sat up. His body appeared unscathed. He touched his face. He was not wearing glasses any more._

_Then a noise reached him through the unformed nothingness that surrounded him: the small, soft thumpings of something that flapped, flailed and struggled. It was a pitiful noise, yet also slightly indecent. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was eavesdropping on something furtive, shameful._

_For the first time, he wished he were clothed._

_Barely had the wish been formed in his head, than robes appeared a short distance away. He took them and pulled them on: they were soft, clean and warm. It was extraordinary how they had appeared, just like that. The moment he had wanted them…_

_He stood up, looking around. Was he in some great Room of Requirement? The longer he looked, the more there was to see. A great, domed glass roof glittered high above him in the sunlight. Perhaps it was a palace. All was hushed and still, except for those odd thumping and whimpering noises coming from somewhere close by in the mist…_

_Harry turned slowly on the spot, and his surroundings seemed to invent themselves before his eyes. A wide open space bright and clean, a hall larger by far than the Great Hall, with that clear, domed glass ceiling. It was quite empty. He was the only person there, except_ _for –_

Harry jumped in surprise. He had spotted the thing that was making the noises. A baby, half swaddled in blankets had awoken and was trying to get free.

Harry walked towards it warily – he had never been near a baby before, save perhaps for when he was that age himself, although he had a hard time believing that the Dursley’s would ever have brought him to a nursery.

He bent down to pull it free. It grinned gummily and batted at his glasses. “Dada!” It – he, Harry supposed – said proudly, as it attempted to yank the glasses off.

Harry tried to smile at it but was disappointed – although not exactly surprised – to find that his mouth refused the command.

“Ouch!” The baby said, and slapped its hand against Harry’s scar. Harry caught the tiny hand as it came up for a second hit.

“Hey, lay off.” He said distractedly; noticing for the first time that his scar wasn’t bothering him in the slightest, even the familiar thrum had vanished. The lack of pain felt unnatural – had he ever felt so peaceful before? He’d always thought that the constant ache was normal but what if –

“Ouch!”

“Yeah.” Harry said, weariness coating his words. He brushed, almost mechanically, the baby’s hair back to reveal an identical scar on its head. He blinked back tears and sat down on the still undefined ground.

The baby toddled off into the mist almost as soon as they had sat down. Harry tried not to let the thought of his childhood pain him but found he couldn’t. He remembered being thirteen and trying to think of a happy memory to make a patronus.

He stood up – screw not changing time! He wouldn’t condemn anyone, even himself, to that upbringing, to one of the happiest memories a teenager would have being leaving the only family he knew.

He’d only taken two steps into the mist when he spotted another silhouetted figure; around the size of a young boy. Thinking maybe this person would have noticed the baby passing by he veered right.

“Hey –

Harry trailed off as the child turned around. He didn’t think he needed to go looking for his infant self anymore.

The boy – preteen, Harry could look for longer and work out just how old, but he doesn’t want to – stared at him.

Harry could barely recognise himself in this young child, but for the scar. Seeing the thing properly for the first time, not in a mirror or photograph but in a face unfamiliar enough that it may as well be that of a stranger, he can understand, at last, why people’s eyes are always drawn to it. It looks alien, inhuman almost.

He wondered what he’d look like without it. He wondered if he’d ever outgrow it – and then laughed at his own foolishness; he had just been hit by the killing curse. He would never outgrow anything again. Not his scar, or his mother’s eyes, or the prophecy, or even Uncle Vernon’s lumpy old socks that were still lying in his school trunk – wherever that was now.

The boy looked like he might say something for a moment but didn’t and just ducked his head and reached up in an attempt to straighten his hair. Harry tried to guess at what he might have been about to say but found his mind gone blank.

He tried again – it should be easy surely, to know what he would be thinking, he remembered he had been able to do so at thirteen; imagining what he’d do if he saw a duplicate of himself. This is the same thing but still the thoughts won’t come.

It ached, somewhere inside of him, to realise he didn’t even know himself. Some saviour, some hero; always choosing the wrong path and damning everyone else just because he could never understand how to be.

He realised he was still staring and looked away sharply.

He stared at the fog, desperate for something else to look at, and found to his surprise that the area had focused into something – there was a fierce tingle in his mind that said it’s something recognisable but he doesn’t. He doesn’t recognise it.

He squinted into the distance and when that didn’t work reached for his glasses which are surely on the top of his head like an old man before he remembered that they weren’t with him when he woke up. There was a clattering to his side and when he looked around his younger self was waving them in his direction.

“Are these yours mister? They just fell here…”

Harry took them from him without speaking, the kind of rude teenager this child hated and was intimidated by. He wondered why he didn’t feel the same urge he did with the infant, to pick him up and take him away.

Harry stared at himself; young and old at the same time, and thought: he doesn’t know he’s a wizard yet. Only a freak. Only an orphan child left on a doorstep. He knows his parents are dead but he also knows that they had no friends who loved him, no family closer than a sister they never saw. He knows that even death doesn’t want him.

This is a boy who lived but wasn’t celebrated and who kept living anyway throughout the Harry hunts, the scraps of food, the constant chores, lived on despite the moments in the dark where he dreams of knives and doesn’t know who he wants to kill the most.

This child doesn’t know the difference between red and green. It was easier to hate back then.

Actually, Harry did know when this would have been; his glasses have new tape on them and his shoes are coming apart, there’s a grass stain on his left sleeve. Harry remembered that day.

He’d run away from Dudley the day before and tripped over he got away after the second punch while Dudley was complaining about the glass stuck in his knuckles and he’d stolen the spare tape from the teacher’s desk to fix them back together. The next day – this day – he still had the grass stain from tripping because he only had one school jumper and it was already too big for him and had blood stains around the collar. He still doesn’t know if it’s ever been washed.

He doesn’t miss this child. Doesn’t miss being ordinary. Can’t bring himself to miss any part of this old life.

He could hardly hold in the platitude he wanted to give himself. It doesn’t get better. You’re going to be happier dead than you are now.

Harry tried to smile at the boy in thanks but ended up just turning away and hating himself more than ever.

In less than a year you’ll be special. In eight you’ll be dead.

Harry turned back around after the self-loathing damped down to find again that his younger self has grown older but this time it’s barely a year more instead of ten.

There was a small skinny wizard boy staring at him with something like hope on his face. Harry stared at him and recognises what he hadn’t seen in the nine year old version – innocence and belief in the world.

“Dad?”

Harry’s heart did a funny flipping thing and he turned to look over his shoulder, wondered if his face would have the same hopeful expression or if it, like everything else, had aged.

There wasn’t anyone behind him and suddenly he wanted to laugh at what he’d thought about not knowing what he was thinking. This boy, just like the baby before him, just like his future at thirteen, they were all thinking the same thing. That their father was there.

There was that self-loathing again.

He shook his head at himself and dragged his hair up away from the scar. The mingling confusion and disappointment was practically visible – it radiated from Harry’s other face like heat from a fire.

“You do meet them later.” Harry said weakly, thinking of priori incantatum and the resurrection stone. He doesn’t think the boy believes him though. He wouldn’t.

The boy shrugged and looked down, scuffed his feet on the white nothing of the ground, looked up at Harry again and then back down. Harry didn’t move – he thought vaguely, that he should speak first, as the elder of the two.

“What should I call you?”

Harry blinked at himself, confusion clouding his mind, “I’m Harry.” He said at last.

“I know _that_. But what should I call you?”

“I’m Harry.”

“You’re older than me though. I was Harry first.” Harry First stared at Harry fiercely; he doesn’t have much, skinny wizard boy, he doesn’t want to lose his name. Harry shrugged.

Harry First grinned at him. “So is this normal, for magic?”

Harry considered this. “I don’t think so.”

“Don’t you remember?”

Harry stayed silent for long enough that the younger seemed to give up on him. Harry watched as Harry First looked around the space they were in.

“Is it something wrong with the barrier?”

Harry blinked at him.

Harry First rolled his eyes.

“…the barrier?”

“At Kings Cross. I went through it and then you were here.”

I was here first. Harry thought loudly, and then realised what First had said. “Are we at Kings Cross?” But even before he finished speaking he could see the walls forming into familiar arches and the floor falling away into empty tracks.

Harry First rolled his eyes. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen.” Harry said distractedly, still looking at the solidifying landscape. Kings Cross.

“So I’ve got five years left before I go mental?”

“I’m not mental.” Harry said, without any bite in it, and with the feeling that he was lying through his teeth. “And it’s only three years.”

“Do you know how old I am?” First said suspiciously.

Harry blinked at the non-sequitur. “Of course I do. You’re eleven. You’ll be twelve in a few weeks and then you’re going to meet a house-elf and then you’ll go to the Burrow and then you’ll go back to Hogwarts.”

“What’s a house-elf? What’s the Burrow? Wait, do you mean I go mad at fifteen?”

Harry ignored the first two questions. “If I’m mad it definitely started at the end of my fourth year.”

“You’re mad for sure.” First said with so much certainty that Harry decided he must be right.

“You’ve got three years then.” He shrugged and felt like he was detaching himself from reality in the movement.

Harry First considered this for a bit, not really looking at Harry, then said with an air of finality, “Worth it.”

He waved at Harry as he ran off and Harry could almost catch the sight of his trunk bumping along behind him. If he strained his ears he could hear someone shouting for him, or Hedwig squawking at a sudden swerve.

Harry spun himself in a circle, dizzying the world until he felt a little sick and the walls spun on their own. He lay back on the ground – which was softer and cleaner than Kings Cross was really and waited. He had a feeling he knew what was coming.

Sure enough within moments of lying down Harry First – Second, he supposes, now – is leant over him with a bemused expression on his face.

“Hi.” Harry said, considering Second blankly. He wondered how long he’d been here, how long he’d stay, if the afterlife would just be one long string of past selves being perpetually disappointed in him for not being his father. As if he hadn’t had enough of that in life.

“Hello.”

“Learn anything good this year?”

“I killed a giant snake and almost died.”

“Yeah that sounds about right.”

“What about you?”

“I learnt that sentimentality might save the world but it also might get me killed by a semi-immortal snake. And also that I should listen to Hermione more.”

“That’s…disturbingly familiar. Were you one of the people who got petrified?”

“Nope. Hey you want some camping advice?”

Second frowned. “I guess.”

“Ok, one, remember to pack non-perishable food, two,” Harry sighed, “Two…don’t go camping.”

“Thanks. Hey I bet my snake was bigger than yours.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah, you’d think we’d learn right?”

“Oh.” Second said, face falling. “That’s why you look so much like me. I thought maybe…”

“I was our dad? You didn’t say anything though.” First Harry had said something.

Second shrugged. Harry thinks they’re probably near the exit by now.

“Well done with the diary by the way. That’s another thing you won’t get better at.”

“I’m starting to see why so many people want me dead.”

“That’s fair. Bye kid, see you in five years.”

Second smiled and waved before disappearing.

Harry leant against the wall and waited for Third to turn up. He’s so tired.

He saw someone coming towards him and waited but this Harry just looks at him funny and edges around him to slip through the barrier. Right – of course, this Harry Potter just found out he’s got a family who wants him and still thinks that his godfather might be freed one day.

He’s really, really tired. He doesn’t want to talk to his end-of-fourth-year self.

“Harry?”

Harry opened his eyes in surprise to a slightly dishevelled Cedric Diggory.

“You died too? Man I’m sorry.”

“Here’s to leaving early.” Harry said smiling properly for the first time. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah you too. You’re the first person I’ve seen since I died. I can’t tell if it’s been seconds or an eternity, although judging by you I’d guess it’s been more than a few days.” He was still smiling, just like he always had been before – never a bad word to say. Harry wonders what he would have done with an extra three years.

Probably more than Harry had.

“Guess you’re disappointed to find me here?” Cedric said, bumping Harry’s shoulder companionably.

“Huh?”

“Your parents?”

Harry shrugged. “I saw them earlier, kinda. It’s good to see you. I’m glad you’re…”

“Oh sure. You too.”

Harry laughed and laughed. It hurt.

“Hey Harry?”

“Y-yeah?”

“I know I’m not the first person to tell you this but you know it’s not all on you right? Being the boy-who-lived doesn’t mean you have to save everyone.”

Harry stared around at Kings Cross; it’s almost completely clear to him now, only a little blurry at the edges like the characters in Dudley’s video games. “Thanks Cedric. I’m sorry I –

“Don’t you dare apologise for giving me a chance to win.”

“Thanks for waiting for me then.”

“Anytime.” Cedric said, smiling, already slipping through the barrier as though he can’t stop himself. “See you Harry; don’t forget to look after yourself.”

“Thank…”

Cedric was gone.

“Thanks.”

“What for Harry? I never did anything.”

Harry looked up, and lit up. “Sirius!” He jumped up to fall into a hug. He felt safe for the first time in ages.

Sirius looped his arms around Harry and pulled him closer. “Good to see you too.”

“I need to tell you something.”

“About my brother? Don’t worry; he was waiting when I got here.”

“So anyone can turn up? Because I’ve just been talking to myself. Heh.” Harry wasn’t sure if Sirius could hear him, as he was still mumbling into his shoulder. He’s glad Sirius and Regulus got to talk though, glad Sirius got to see his brother again, even if his parents didn’t wait for him.

“We don’t get to choose. I tried to leave when my brother did but the wall wouldn’t open for me. I didn’t even think about waiting for you; I’m sorry Harry.”

Harry didn’t say anything; he didn’t really mind this because at least Sirius had been honest with him, had always tried his hardest to be honest with Harry.

“I don’t mind. I’m glad you’re here now, I’m really boring to talk to.”

“You’re one of my favourite people to talk to. And I’m glad to be here too.”

“I did see you half an hour ago though.”

“Pretty sure it was longer than that.”

“No, I mean just now, in the forest? With my parents? And professor Lupin?”

“Remus is dead too?” He shook his head as though water-clogged. “Forget that. What did we talk about?”

“Um. Mum said she loved me and dad said he was proud of me.”

Sirius nodded.

“And professor Lupin said it wasn’t my fault he was dead.”

“Good. What did I say?”

“That dying was like falling asleep.”

“Well I don’t remember saying it but yeah, I’m not wrong.”

Harry laughed wetly.

“I missed you.”

“Yeah? ‘Cause I remember being pretty lousy company that last year.” He said wryly. “You deserved better than us Harry.”

“I think we all did.”

“Well let’s see, if all goes right our eternal reward should be on the other side of that wall. Want to give it a shot?”

Harry pulled out of the hug and nodded firmly. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Still unwilling to completely release Sirius from his grip Harry held tightly to his godfather’s hand as they walked in tandem up to the barrier. Harry grinned at the thought of being at rest with his family forever and smacked straight into solid brick.

“Ow!”

“Ow! Damnit, I guess we’ve got to wait for someone else, huh?”

Harry looked around. “Sirius?”

The station was empty again; Sirius had gone on. Without Harry.

Harry sank down onto the floor in defeat. If the pattern continued his next visitor should be Professor Dumbledore and then he would finally die. Well that was fine with him; he had some questions for the man.

He leant back on the wall and closed his eyes, still, ashamedly, not completely given up on the possibility of just _sinking through_.

He waited almost cheerfully for Professor Dumbledore – certainly more cheerfully than he would have if he was waiting for himself.

He waited. And waited. And waited.

When he finally opened his eyes he was magnificently disappointed.

On the plus side, so was he.

“Oh.”

“That’s right Six you’re still a massive disappointment in the future.”

“Six?”

“You’re sixteen aren’t you?”

“How long do I have before I turn into you?” Six slumped down opposite Harry and frowned.

“Two years, give or take.”

“And this is –

“The precursor to the afterlife. Yeah.”

“Precursor?”

“Do you not understand anything? If this was the actual afterlife you’d be talking to someone else.”

Six ignored the jab and focussed on the second part of Harry’s sentence. “Have you seen them?”

Harry’s instinct was to lie – to tell Six that he’d been too slow and had missed meeting his parents but the clear and distinct hope in his face puts him off at the last second. He shook his head and leant back again.

He was still tired. He opened his eyes; Six was staring at him with unbridled curiosity.

“You can probably get through the barrier if you try.” Harry stood up and moved aside. Six smiled half-heartedly and walked past him.

His sixteen year old self vanished and Harry wondered if that was it? Nothing had seemed to change but who else could come? He was already seventeen; he would never make it to eighteen.

Harry waited a few minutes before attempting the barrier again. It still refused to yield.

Nothing else was happening – if anything the vapour seemed to have gotten heavier again and he had almost given up when he heard the scuffing of shoes and turned around.

“Dad?”

He hadn’t expected it this time.

It was him as he had been eleven months ago. Harry swallowed and stared at his own face – he looked so much younger, he hadn’t realised how much being on the run had aged him – how much it would age the boy in front of him.

The younger Harry stepped closer and his face fell; he must have seen Harry’s scar or his eyes.

“What is this?”

Harry shrugged. “The afterlife?”

“Where’re mum and dad? And Sirius? Where’s Dumbledore?”

Harry shrugged again.

His almost-doppelgänger stared hard at him. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

Seven laughed. “No way! _I’m_ seventeen. How old are you really?”

“Seventeen and eleven months.” Harry said quietly, caught, finally, on how bizarre the situation was.

Seven’s face fell and he swallowed – Harry felt a hint of pride in himself; he may not be the brightest wand on the shelf but he wasn’t completely clueless – “What happened?”

Harry shrugged, and felt all the more inadequate for it, “It doesn’t matter. You won’t remember this.”

“How do you know!?” Seven exploded. “We could change things! This might be a second chance!”

“It isn’t.” Harry said, the effort from the past year seeping into his voice, “I don’t remember this ever happening and I should. I think I’m hallucinating you.”

“Why?”

“I died.”

“W-what?”

“Voldemort killed me; I had to let him. I’m a Horcrux. It’s the only way we can defeat him.”

Seven’s face turned stone dead. Harry could see his mind working it all out – again he felt a fizzle of pride.

Seven licked his lips before speaking. “Did we get all of the others?”

“Not the snake.” Harry shook his head. “But Ron or Hermione will.”

“They’re still alive?” His face lit up, “I thought – they never would have let you do this alone. I thought he must have killed them first.”

Harry’s blood ran cold. That had been his biggest fear back at the start of this hadn’t it? That he would get one his best friends killed. He wondered if they had been afraid of the same thing.

“What about Ginny?” Seven asked, “Is she alright too? And what about –

“Yes.” Harry said, cutting him off before he’s forced to give bad news. “Ginny was fine the last I saw.”

Seven beamed. “So…this is heaven huh? Do you think mum and dad are coming?”

“I don’t think I’m dead yet.” He said, finally willing to voice the theory he’d been avoiding admitting instead of having to disappoint yet another person. Even if it was only him.

“What?”

“I don’t think I’m dead yet. I mean, I survived last time didn’t I? Maybe, maybe you were right; this is a second chance.”

“You mean you can go back?”

“I…think so?”

“Well go on then!” Seven jumped a little while gesturing wildly at Harry to move.

Harry doesn’t move. “Or I could stay here.” Death appeals to him – it always has somewhere deep down – and now it’s happened the temptation to just _rest_ is – overpowering. He wants peace, finally.

In front of him Seven looks disgusted. “The war isn’t over. You can’t leave.”

Harry ignored him; the fog looked more welcoming than life ever could and he could almost make out a door. He looked at himself. “Someone else will kill him.”

Seven stepped up to his older incarnation and slapped him as hard as he could. “You have to mean unforgivable curses.” He said, echoing Bellatrix Lestrange and, unknowingly, Alecto Carrow. “What if you have to mean the killing curse? What if none of them can kill him because they all think only you can kill him? What if they’re trying right now and when you walk through that door Ron’s there? Or Hermione?”

Harry swallowed. “I just want to rest.”

“I know.” Seven said pityingly, aging before Harry’s eyes. “I’m you. We can rest when the war is over.”

They’re identical now; the Harry in front of him has no bruising on his neck and no ash in his hair – this is him right before the battle started.

“Hey guess what?” His double said to him slowly.

“What?”

“You’ve got a godson out there somewhere.”

Harry swallowed and saw his mirror do the same. He closed his eyes; he thought about his childhood, about his cupboard, about Remus and Tonks lying on the Great Hall floor, about Sirius always coming when he called, about Ginny and Ron and Hermione, about the people who weren’t getting chances like his, and, finally, about the epitaph on his parent’s grave.

He can feel the forest beneath him. He doesn’t open his eyes.


End file.
